Skin Deep
by Varda's Servant
Summary: A disappearance. A death. A father in mourning and a family in limbo. AU Mature themes!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Lookie! New story! Yay!

Right, anyways, welcome! I hope you enjoy the story, really I do, but I have a warning. I'm putting up the first chapter because I need to beg for a beta. None of my other ones are available, and I need a dedacated beta. I mean it. An 'I'm going to use a sledgehammer and bang this baby into shape' beta. So feel free to review and tell me what you think, it's always enjoyable hearing people's opinions. Even if you hate it. (Though if you do hate it, please do me the courtesy of telling me why so I can fix it. No beta and all that.)

So please, if anyone out there is feeling like they need something else to do, call me! E-mail is in my profile.

Until then, enjoy!

**Chapter 1**

He lay in his hospital bed, the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor his only companion. For now.

They would be back soon, he just knew it. They would come and stare at him with those false sympathetic faces, ask the same questions over and over, leave only when the nurse threw them out.

He wondered vaguely why they kept asking those questions. He didn't remember much of his childhood, or his adolescence so far. He didn't see why not knowing where he was when he was eight was such a big thing.

Kevin sighed, turning over slowly. Carefully he adjusted all the wires and tubes attached to him, trying not to disconnect any of them. The last time that had happened…

Smiling slightly, he remembered the nurse's frantic footsteps, her voice calling for help from the corridor, only to find a false alarm when she got to his room. Apparently, it was her first time on duty alone, and she hadn't quite expected to see all her patient's vitals suddenly disappear.

Real footsteps interrupted his train of thought, and there came a knock on his door. Sighing, Kevin just lay there, wishing they would go away. He just wanted to go home.

* * *

Scott headed slowly up the steps. This was his hardest duty as oldest brother, one he refused to share with anyone, even Virgil. Despite his younger brother's insistence that he needed to share it. Virgil meant well, but Scott knew that his brother couldn't do this. Hell, he barely could do it, and he'd been doing it since is mother had died eight years earlier. 

It just never got any easier.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Scott approached his father's study door. Knocking softly to announce himself, he went right in. His father never answered on this particular anniversary. He knew who it was anyway; the only person to come up on this particular date was Scott. Even Kyrano kept his distance, respecting the boundaries his employer and friend needed.

His father was facing the ocean, watching the horizon, tears slowly dripping down his face unheeded. Scott stood next to him, a silent companion. His father always spoke first.

"I found an old photo today. Of your mother… and John."

Scott waited as his father broke and let out one soft sob. Jefferson Tracy hated being seen as weak, and crying was something that was not often seen in any of the Tracy's, even Grandma. So he simply stood silent until his father found his control once more.

"I had forgotten it. Forgotten! How could I…?"

The elder Tracy finally turned to look at his eldest child, his firstborn son. Jeff Tracy saw a man that he was proud of, that he loved far more than he could ever express. And it reminded him horribly of what he had lost, of what he would most likely never regain. It broke his heart all over again.

Scott saw the love and pain in his father's eyes, saw once more the regret of his last words to the child long lost, and the pride he had in the sons that remained to him. And he too felt it, the overpowering desire to speak just one more time with the brother that was stolen from him. To see his face, hear his voice, hold him one more time.

Slowly, Scott embraced his father, and Jeff clung to his son almost desperately.

"It's not your fault Dad. It never was." The mantra never worked, and Scott wondered distantly if his father would be the man he was today if it ever had.

"I forgot it, Scott. I forgot."

"It's just a picture."

"No it's not. I forgot him too."

Slowly, Scott withdrew, watching the elder Tracy try to convey his emotions.

"If I had gotten there sooner, taken the other road, gone to pick him up first… I could have saved him! Why didn't I save him?" Jeff dazedly wandered to his desk chair, sinking down into its leather embrace, a cold replacement for the one he truly desired.

Moving after his father, Scott noticed for the first time a picture, lying on his father's desk, on top of the papers that were scattered there. It was of a teenager, late in his adolescence, with white-blond hair and vibrant blue eyes. He was familiar, yet strange at the same time, and Scott felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach.

"Dad," he picked up the picture and just stared at it, wishing desperately to see something else, some other face on it, "Dad, please tell me you didn't… That this isn't-"

"It is." Jeff's gaze was steady and certain for the first time since Scott had entered the room.

"Why? Dad, you have to move on, to let this go."

"No. He's alive, I know he is."

"Please, please don't do this. Dad, I'm begging you, let this go. Let _him_ go. He's gone-"

"No!" Roaring, the elder Tracy stood, violently shoving his chair away. "He's alive Scott, and I will find him some day. I won't leave him to wonder where we are, why we abandoned him. Why _I_ abandoned him." Temper cooling, voice dropping to a whisper, Jeff laid his hand on his son's shoulder.

"What we're building here, what it will become, is your mother's legacy."

"It's for John too." Scott stubbornly met his father's eyes.

"John will be here one day. John will be here to help us honor your mother. Make no mistake Scott. I'll find him."

Sighing, Scott backed off. Jefferson Tracy could out-stubborn a mule. And his firstborn knew it.

"May I at least ask where you got the picture? I mean, it isn't actually-" For the first time, a spark of excited hope flared into life within Scott.

"Him?" A sad smile, another regretful look. "No, it isn't him. It's what he might look like today. I needed to know."

Pushing aside his disappointment, Scott studied the discarded picture more closely this time. The blank gaze, the stiff posture, the empty background. He hadn't noticed it the first time, but now that he was really looking it was obvious.

"Did the police do the ageing or was it a private company?"

"The police did it for me. I went to the detective who was in charge. He seemed – sadder – somehow. He remembered me too, looked horribly guilty at first. He shouldn't blame himself. There really wasn't anything to go on."

Biting his tongue, Scott forced down the urge to shake his father. Stubborn as a mule, he was, and incapable of taking his own advice.

"Sounds like someone else I know." Scott's tone was sharp, his gaze pointed.

Failing to rise to the bait, the elder Tracy just moved again, his emotions allowing him no rest. Staring out over the island, Jeff shivered a little. Scott could almost feel the tense energy held within his father, watch the memories play themselves over and over again. _No rest for the weary,_ he thought as he moved towards his father once more. It was always like this, a bizarre game of tag, few words, fewer resolutions. So much pain, so much guilt.

_So tired…_

Silent companions now, waiting for another catalyst. From a whisper to a scream, and then back again. It was dizzying, exhausting, and Scott desperately wanted it to end. That was what this was all about. An end. Release. Finally allowing reality to set in, to accept the loss and move on.

But that would never happen. It couldn't, because Jeff Tracy didn't know what had happened to his son. His wife, Lucille Tracy, had died, and he had grieved. He had allowed himself that luxury, indulging in days of sorrow. And then he had moved on. Began a memorial in tribute to his dearly loved wife. A memorial that Scott was proud to be a part of. One that would save lives around the world, lives that otherwise would be needlessly lost.

Like hers.

But she was gone, and everyone knew it. There had been a funeral. A wake. Sympathetic looks from classmates and teachers. Closure.

Scott broke the silence. After nine years of waiting, he finally spoke what had been in his heart for so long.

"Dad, please. Please move on. If you can't accept that he's gone for yourself, please accept it for us. Because we can't move on until you do. You're our father, and we love you. If you love us then please, _please,_ let this go. Let him go, and let us all have peace."

Moments passed, a silence heavier than before settling over them like a blanket, smothering every noise, every movement, every breath. Distantly, Scott wondered if his father was too far gone. If he could ever let go. Even to keep what he still had.

It wasn't long before the eldest Tracy child got his answer.

In a puff of defeat, his father sagged. "I can't. I just can't. Please…"

Silently, Scott nodded and left the room, leaving his father, and his hope, behind.

* * *

Gingerly, Kevin allowed the nurse to assist him as he sat. He ached all over, especially when he sat, but it was twilight and he had always loved the stars. He wouldn't have to wait long for them to comfort him again. A little physical pain meant nothing, so long as he could see his sparkling guardians. 

"I'll just go fetch your dinner, I'll not be more then a few minutes. Okay sweetie?" Hovering, the nurse waited for his answer, hoping, Kevin knew, for more than a sullen nod _this_ time. She left disappointed, and gave the injured teenager some cherished alone time.

He contemplated the stars while she was gone, on all the things they saw, all the secrets they kept. He thought…

"_What have I told you about this, huh? Huh? Useless, the both of you! Get, you hear me? I said GET!"_

A small cry was torn from Kevin's throat as he flinched away from the invasive hands. He lashed out as they tried to restrain him, a female cry greeting his blow. The hands were gone now, and slowly the fog of sleep cleared from Kevin's mind. As it dissipated, the teenager became aware of the nurse on the floor in front of him, blood running from her nose.

As quickly as he was able, he got up from his chair and moved to her side, assisting her as she stood as best he could.

As an orderly hurried into the room, Kevin became aware of two things: his voice, babbling apologies so quickly as to be almost incoherent and the nurse, looking at him with understanding and forgiveness. The abused teen looked away, closing his mouth and moving back, away from that horrible pity. He hated that far more than anything else in the world.

After all, he didn't have it so bad, did he?

_At least I have a home,_ he thought stubbornly, _at least I have a family. They love me. I know they do._

He was being talked at, again. He waited patiently, as always, for the doctor to finish, and allowed himself to be seated back into the chair without argument. He would talk to the stars, like always. The others could take their caring and shove it. He didn't need it. His family loved him. This was all just a misunderstanding.

* * *

Doctor Thompson watched as his patient stoically ignored him, retreating back into his own little world. Sighing, he placed the tray by the teen's side and left him to it. There would be no communication tonight, he knew, and there was no point in trying to force it. The boy was pretty far gone, and Thompson wasn't sure if he'd be able to bring him back. 

He was met just outside the door by Iris, the young nurse who took care of Kevin Williams. She was kind and caring, and very experienced. Which is why she usually ended up with the trauma induced cases.

At the moment, she was sporting a swollen nose and an apologetic expression.

"It's alright, Iris. It's not your fault." Thompson cut off any apologies before they began, feeling worn and rather hopeless.

"Yes sir. I still feel responsible though."

"You can't blame yourself for the boy's condition. You didn't hurt him."

"I know. I just-"

"Iris, please. Not now. I have another meeting that I really must get to."

"Of course." The nurse's soft reply was missed by the harried doctor as he headed towards his office, and yet another profiling session. Right at that moment, Thompson would have given his right arm for a cup of strong, _decent_, coffee, but unfortunately, all he had was the gloppy muck the hospital coffee machines dispensed.

And even that was in his office. With the cops.

Bracing himself, the doctor opened the door, readying his excuses and preparing for a fight.


	2. Chapter 2

_-Ring ring-_

"Wha…?"

_-Ring ring-_

"Who's…? Jimmy?"

_-Ring ri-_

"Hello?"

Tammy Beckers slowly came awake, her mouth working before her mind had finished clearing the fog of sleep from her mind. She became aware of a voice on the other end of the phone. The phone she had answered and then promptly forgotten.

"Hello?" she said again as she replaced the phone to her ear, more awake now.

"Hello?" came the reply, a deep male voice, unfamiliar. "Is this Tamara Beckers?"

"Maybe," she said cautiously, wary of strange men calling her. "Who is this?"

"I'm sorry to wake you, but it's important. My name is Detective Cowler, from the Los Angeles Police Department. I need to speak to Tamara Beckers right away. I'm following up a new lead in her daughter's case."

"New lead?" Suddenly, Tammy was wide awake, almost jumping with energy, as she heard the magic words. "You've found my baby?"

"So this _is_ Mrs. Beckers?"

"Yes, that's me. What new lead? Have you found her?"

Pausing, Cowler seemed reluctant to continue.

"Possibly." He finally capitulated.

"Where? When? Can I see her?"

"Please Mrs Beckers, we haven't anything concrete as of yet. I was calling to inform you, and ask for a DNA sample."

"DNA sample. Like for identifying reasons."

"DNA can be used to determine maternity, but likely as not it will show up nothing. Please Mrs Beckers-"

"Tammy. Just Tammy. And no Mrs, Jimmy and I are getting divorced. And I'll do anything to help. Do you need me to come right now? I can catch the next flight over."

"Please, Mrs Be- Tammy. Slow down. I know that your child has been missing a long time, and I know that you would have been told the chances of actually finding her alive. So please, for your sake, don't get your hopes up too much. There is a faint possibility, a very, _very_ small possibility, that this girl is your daughter. So we have to look into it.

"But there are no guarantees. Please try to remember that."

"Of course Detective." Tammy tried to do as Cowler had suggested, remembering the slim chances the police had given her twelve years ago, when Michelle had first disappeared. "When shall I come in?"

"You don't have to come all the way to Los Angeles. Houston P.D. can take a sample."

Tammy felt her stomach churn. She wanted so desperately to go…

"I'll get the results back to you as soon as I can. I promise. It will probably take a few days, maybe even a week to get the sample processed. There's no reason for you to be here worrying when you could be with your friends and family."

Closing her eyes, the grieving mother allowed common sense to take over. Detective Cowler knew what he was talking about. She'd trust his judgment.

Besides, without Sarah and Ben, she'd probably never make it through the next few days anyways.

"Tammy?"

The gentle prompt brought Tamara out of her thoughts, and solidified what she had decided on.

"Of course, Detective. I'll be waiting eagerly."

"No doubt. I'll get back to you as soon as I have the results, day or night. How does that sound?"

"Wonderful Detective. Thank you."

"It's only right. And for the record, I hope we have found her."

Making a non-committal reply, fearful of losing control and beating a hasty track towards the City of Angels, Tamara Beckers hung up. Laying down again, despite knowing there would be no more sleep that day, Tammy held a little girl in her arms again one more time.

Her last thoughts before losing herself completely in fantasy were not reassuring, however.

_He never told me if she was alive or dead…_

_

* * *

_

Three days had passed since the confrontation. Another six and they would have the second horrible anniversary, and then would come the interminable wait until next year's 'joy'.

Scott could hardly wait.

He poked at his breakfast sullenly, horribly aware of the absence at the head of the table. And the oppressive silence that had shrouded the island since he had voiced his request.

It was as if, with his father's refusal to let go, the rest of the island's inhabitants had given up their own shreds of hope to compensate. He himself had refused to go down into the silos, not wanting to see the beginnings of what he considered to be his brother's legacy. It hurt too much.

On the other hand, he had had to ignore the pangs of grief that rejecting his mother's legacy had caused.

_I can't win,_ Scott thought dejectedly, stirring his scrambled eggs. _Doesn't matter which way I pick. I'm hurting one of them._

Aware of the irony, Scott finally gave up his losing battle with breakfast, choosing instead to leave the table and find a more suitable way to release his frustration. Feeling the eyes on his back, Scott stormed away, breaking into a furious, pounding run as soon as he left the confines of the house.

The waves set his rhythm, and to their relentless beat, he fled. It felt good, as if he could just _keep_ running, he wouldn't have to think anymore. Wouldn't have to _feel_ anymore. He didn't want to feel anymore.

Scott didn't know if his father understood that, if he had that comprehension left. He was just so focused. There was nothing outside his bubble of work, International Rescue, and the search.

Except that there _was_.

Scott increased his pace, legs burning, sweat stinging his eyes, anger swelling. _What about the rest of us, huh? _

He pushed even harder, the pain climbing until his back and chest throbbed with the furious pulse. He pushed until the thoughts stopped spinning uselessly around his head, until he couldn't feel beyond the physical, until he didn't have the strength left to do more than stumble along.

He was on the south beach, and he could see his own footprints in the sand, leading away from him.

He'd been here before.

If he'd had the energy, and the hydration, he probably would have cried. God, this was just so unfair. Why couldn't it _just be over?_ The brunette glared towards the distant shape of the house.

_I will save you, even if you don't want to be saved. For the sake of the rest of us, I will save you._

He slumped to the sand.

* * *

Virgil watched his brother leave the table, tension leaving his shoulders as the older man disappeared. Everyone on the island knew the score right now, but that didn't help anything. 

The family was imploding, and there didn't seem to be anything anyone could do about it.

Taking another bite of eggs, Virgil turned to the other occupants of the table. Gordon looked uncomfortable, his position somewhat precarious. He didn't really remember his older brother, and had little more memory of his mother. So he, like Alan, was left feeling a little displaced. After all, if Scott got his way, Gordon would be the third brother.

_Don't think like that,_ Virgil scolded himself. _It's not like John never existed, after all_.

Resolutely turning his thoughts away from such sensitive topics, the second Tracy son looked to Alan. Who was busy pretending that none of this was happening.

_Fourteen's such a tough age already. Why this now? Why is he doing this?_

Virgil slowly finished his breakfast, despite the fact that it tasted like cardboard. Grandma would give him hell if he didn't eat it all, not with all the work he was putting in on Rescue Two.

And the last thing he needed right now was more trouble.

* * *

Alan watched Gordon as he swam his laps. It was kinda peaceful, watching his brother work out, the rhythm a comforting lull. Between that and the warm sun, Alan found himself slowly drifting off, his mind blanking. 

That is, until Gordon decided that Alan would have more fun napping in the pool.

The blond yelped as he felt strong arms wrap around his body, and gasped as he felt himself sailing through the air. His mostly asleep body didn't have time to register the flight before it ended, rather spectacularly, in the water.

Gordon watched as his younger brother flailed uselessly in the shallow end of the pool, laughing up a storm as the blond gurgled and splashed.

By the time Alan had gotten his feet underneath himself, Gordon had joined him in the water, the red-head's entrance similar to Alan's. Apart from the whole doing-it-himself thing.

Shooting Gordon a scathing glare, Alan flounced from the pool with as much dignity as the dripping wet, out of breath teen could muster. He heard Gordon chuckling after him, but continued to retreat, completely unwilling to allow his brother the victory here. He needed a plan…

* * *

Jeff didn't have the words to describe his emotions right at that moment. Was it the fact that his eldest child was so stubbornly insisting that he move on? Or was it the fact that the rest of his family seemed to have already? 

God, he needed a drink.

Jeff stumbled to his lounge, ignoring the sideboard and the liquor thereon. These days, it was just so very hard. He wanted, desperately needed, to know something, _anything_, about the fate of his son. His conscience just would not allow him rest until he knew. Perhaps it would not allow him rest even then.

_One campout. One measly campout…_

_Oh, God._

The loud guffaws from the direction of the pool had faded to intermittent chuckling. He should probably go out and see what Gordon had done this time. The yelps and splashes earlier spoke clearly of his youngest's misfortune, but Jeff simply couldn't dredge up the energy to care.

He understood the illogic in that train of thought. It glared at him every day that he spent hours closeted in here, poring over information from dozens of private detectives. Information from everywhere, China to Brazil to New Zealand.

Information that took him no closer to his missing son, and further from the sons still left to him.

But he couldn't let go. He just couldn't.

_Or is that 'wouldn't'?_

Jeff knew he needed that drink now. The little voice in his head only sounded like Scott after many hours of work. Maybe scotch would drown it out.

He heaved himself to his feet, heading for the alcohol before he'd even finished straightening up.

The phone rang.

* * *

_A/N:_ Thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter, and a huge thank you to LMChris, my wonderful beta. I hope you guys liked this chapter, and hopefully, it won't be months before the next one is up. Seeya round, everyone, and stay cheeky! 


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